Leonid Nikolaevich Andreev

Satan's Diary

On board the Atlantic

Today is exactly ten days since I became human and lead an earthly life.

My loneliness is very great. I don't need friends, but I need to talk about myself, and I have no one to talk to. Thoughts alone are not enough, and they are not quite clear, distinct and precise, until I express them in a word: they must be lined up like soldiers or telegraph poles, stretched out like a railway line, bridges and viaducts thrown over, embankments and curves built, made in known stopping places - and only then everything becomes clear. This hard labor engineering path is called by them, it seems, logic and consistency and is obligatory for those who want to be smart; for everyone else, it is optional, and they can wander as they please.

The work is slow, difficult and disgusting for someone who is accustomed to one ... I don’t know what to call it, to grasp everything with one breath and express everything with one breath. And it is not for nothing that they respect their thinkers so much, and these unfortunate thinkers, if they are honest and do not cheat in construction, like ordinary engineers, do not end up in a lunatic asylum in vain. I have only been on earth for a few days, and more than once its yellow walls and the welcomingly opened door flashed before Me.

Yes, extremely difficult and irritating "nerves" (also a pretty thing!). Right now - to express a small and ordinary thought about the insufficiency of their words and logic, I was forced to spoil so much beautiful shipping paper ... but what is needed to express the great and extraordinary? I will say in advance - so that you do not open your curious mouth too much, my earthly reader! - what extraordinary in the language of your grumbling inexpressibly. If you do not believe Me, go to the nearest lunatic asylum and listen to those: they have known everything something and they wanted to express it... and you hear how these fallen locomotives hiss and turn their wheels in the air, do you notice with what difficulty they keep in place the scattered features of their astonished and astonished faces?

I see how even now you are ready to bombard Me with questions, having learned that I am Satan incarnate: it is so interesting! Where am I from? What are the rules in hell? Is there immortality, and also what are the prices for coal on the last infernal exchange? Unfortunately, my dear reader, with all my desire, if I had one, I am unable to satisfy your legitimate curiosity. I could make up for you one of those funny stories about horned and hairy devils that are so kind to your meager imagination, but you already have enough of them, and I don’t want to lie to you so rudely and so flatly. I'll lie to you somewhere else where you don't expect anything and it will be more interesting for both of us.

And the truth - as I say it, even if mine Name inexpressible in your language? You called me Satan, and I accept this nickname, as I would accept any other: let me be Satan. But mine true name sounds very different, very different! It sounds extraordinary, and I can never squeeze it into your narrow ear without tearing it apart with your brains: let me be Satan, and nothing more.

And you yourself are to blame for this, my friend: why are there so few concepts in your mind? Your mind is like a beggar's bag, in which there are only pieces of stale bread, and here you need more than bread. You have only two concepts of existence: life and death - how can I explain to you third? Your whole existence is nonsense just because you don't have it. third and where will I take it? Now I am a human being, just like you, in my head your brains, in my mouth your cubic words jostle and prick with corners, and I cannot tell you about the Extraordinary.

If I say that there are no devils, I will deceive you. But if I say that they are, I will also deceive you ... You see how difficult it is, what nonsense it is, my friend! But even about my incarnation, from which ten days ago my earthly life began, I can tell you very little that is understandable. First of all, forget about your favorite hairy, horned, and winged devils who breathe fire, turn clay fragments into gold, and old men into seductive youths, and having done all this and chatted a lot of trifles, instantly fall through the stage - and remember: when we want to come to your land, we must become human. Why this is so, you will know after death, but for now, remember: I am now a man, like you, I smell not of a stinking goat, but of good spirits, and you can calmly shake my hand, not at all afraid of being scratched by the claws: I am so I cut like you.

But how did it happen? Very simple. When I wanted to come to earth, I found one suitable, thirty-eight-year-old American, Mr. Henry Wondergood, a billionaire, and killed him ... of course, at night and without witnesses. But you still cannot bring Me to court, despite My consciousness, since an American alive, and we both greet you with one respectful bow: Me and Wondergood. He just rented an empty room to me, you know - and that's not all, damn it! And come back back I can, unfortunately, only through the door that leads you to freedom: through death.

That's the main thing. But in the future, you can also understand something, although talking about such things in your words is all the same as trying to put a mountain in a vest pocket or scoop out Niagara with a thimble! Imagine that you, my dear king of nature, wished to become closer to the ants and, by the power of a miracle or magic, became an ant, a real tiny ant carrying eggs - and then you will feel a little that abyss that separates the former Me from the present ... no, even worse ! You were a sound, but you became a musical symbol on paper... No, it's even worse, even worse, and no comparisons will tell you about that terrible abyss, the bottom of which I myself can't see yet. Or does it have no bottom at all?

Think: For two days, after leaving New York, I suffered sea ​​sickness! Is that funny to you, used to wallowing in your own filth? Well, and I - I was also lying around, but it was not funny at all. I only smiled once when I thought that this is not I, but Wondergood, and said:

“Swing, Wondergood, pump!”

…There is one more question to which you are waiting for an answer: why did I come to earth and decide on such an unfavorable exchange – from Satan, “almighty, immortal, lord and ruler”, turned into… you? I am tired of looking for words that do not exist, and I will answer you in English, French, Italian and German, in languages ​​​​that both of you and I understand well: I got bored ... in hell, and I came to earth to lie and play .

What is boredom, you know. What is a lie, you know well, and about game you can somewhat judge by your theaters and famous actors. Maybe you yourself play some little thing in parliament, at home or in church? Then you will understand something in the feeling pleasure game. If, in addition, you know the multiplication table, then multiply this delight and pleasure of the game by any multi-digit figure, and then you will get my pleasure, my game. No, even more! Imagine that you are an ocean wave that plays forever and lives only in the game - this one, which I now see behind the glass and which wants to lift our Atlantic ... However, I am again looking for words and comparisons!

I just want to play. At the present moment I am still an unknown artist, a modest debutant, but I hope to become as famous as your Garrick or Olridge - when I play what I want. I am proud, proud and perhaps even conceited... you know what vanity is when you want the praise and applause of at least a fool? Further, I boldly think that I am a genius - Satan is known for his impudence - and now imagine that I am tired of hell, where all these hairy and horned swindlers play and lie almost as well as I do, and that hellish laurels are not enough for me, in which I astutely perceive a good deal of base flattery and simple stupidity. As for you, my earthly friend, I heard that you are smart, quite honest, moderately distrustful, sensitive to questions. eternal art and you play so badly and lie yourself that you are able to highly appreciate someone else's game: after all, it is not without reason that you have so many great ones! Here I come… understand?

My stage will be the earth, and the nearest stage will be Rome, where I am going, this Eternal City, as it is called here with a deep understanding of eternity and other simple things. I still don’t have a definite troupe (wouldn’t you like to join it too?), but I believe that Fate or Chance, to which I am now subject, like all your earthly things, will appreciate my disinterested intentions and send worthy partners to meet ... old europe so rich in talent! I believe that in this Europe I will also find spectators sensitive enough to make faces in front of them and replace soft hellish shoes with heavy cothurni. Frankly, I used to think about the East, where some of my ... compatriots once labored not without success, but the East is too trusting and prone to ballet, like poison, its gods are ugly, it still stinks too much of a striped beast, its darkness and lights barbarously rude and too bright for such a subtle artist like me to go into this cramped and smelly booth. Ah, my friend, I am so vain that I am starting this Diary not without a secret intention to delight you ... even with my misery as a Seeker of words and comparisons. I hope that you will not take advantage of my frankness and stop believing in me?

Are there any other questions? I don’t really know about the play itself, it will be composed by the same impresario that will attract the actors - Fate - and My modest role for a start: a person who loves other people so much that he wants to give them everything - soul and money. Have you forgotten, of course, that I am a billionaire? I have three billion. Enough, isn't it, for one spectacular performance? Now one more detail to complete this page.

Riding with me and sharing my fate is one Erwin Toppy, my secretary, a very respectable person in his black frock coat and top hat, with his drooping nose like an unripe pear, and the shaven face of a parson. I wouldn't be surprised if they found a marching prayer book in his pocket. My Toppy came to earth - from there, that is, from hell, and in the same way as I: he also became human, and, it seems, quite successfully - the idler is completely insensitive to pitching. However, even for seasickness, some intelligence is needed, and My Toppy is impassable stupid - even for the earth. In addition, he is rude and gives advice. I already somewhat regret that from the rich our I didn’t choose better cattle for myself, but I was seduced by his honesty and some familiarity with the land: somehow it was more pleasant to embark on this walk with an experienced comrade. Once - a long time ago - he already took on a human form and was so imbued with religious ideas that - think! - entered the monastery of the Franciscan brothers, lived there until a hoary old age and died peacefully under the name of brother Vincent. His ashes became an object of worship for believers - not a bad career for a stupid Devil! - and he himself is with Me again and is already sniffing, where it smells of incense: an ineradicable habit! You will probably love him.

And now enough. Get out my friend. I want to be alone. I am annoyed by your flat reflection that I caused on this stage, and I want to be alone, or at least with this Wondergood, who gave Me his premises and somehow fraudulently cheated Me. The sea is calm, I no longer feel sick, as in these damned days, but I'm afraid of something. I'm afraid! It seems that I am frightened by this darkness, which they call night and which lies over the ocean: here it is still light from the light bulbs, but beyond the thin wall lies a terrible darkness, where My eyes are completely powerless. They are worth nothing anyway, these stupid mirrors that can only reflect, but in the dark they lose this pathetic ability. Of course, I'll get used to the darkness, I'm already used to a lot, but now it's not good and scary for me to think that only the turn of a key - and this blind, always ready darkness will embrace me. Where is she from?

And how brave they are with their dim mirrors - they see nothing and simply say: it's dark here, we need to turn on the light! Then they extinguish themselves and fall asleep. With some surprise, though cold, I look at these brave men and ... admire. Or does fear require a mind too big, like mine? You're not such a coward, Vandergood, you've always been known as a seasoned and seasoned man!

One minute in My incarnation I cannot remember without horror: when I first heard the beating my hearts. This distinct, loud, counting sound, as much talking about death as about life, struck Me unexperienced fear and anxiety. They put counters everywhere, but how can they carry in their chest this a counter, with the speed of a conjurer, saying goodbye to seconds of life?

At the first moment I wanted to scream and immediately rush way down, not yet accustomed to life, but looked at Toppy: this newborn fool is calmly cleaning his top hat with the sleeve of his coat. I laughed and shouted:

- Toppy! brush!

And we both cleansed ourselves, and the counter in My chest counted how many seconds this lasted, and, it seems, added. Then, later, listening to his importunate ticking, I began to think: "I won't make it in time!" What can't I do? I myself did not know this, but for two whole days I was in a mad hurry to drink, eat, even sleep: after all, the counter does not doze while I lie like a motionless carcass and sleep!

Now I am no longer in a hurry. I know that I will be in time, and My seconds seem inexhaustible to Me, but My counter is agitated by something and knocks like a drunken soldier on a drum. And how - these small seconds that he is now throwing away - are they considered equal to large ones? Then it's a scam. I protest as an honest citizen of the United States and a businessman!

I do not feel good. Now I wouldn't alienate a friend either, that's probably a good thing friends. Oh! But in the whole Universe I am alone!

Rome, Hotel Internationale

I get mad every time I have to take a policeman's stick and put things in order in My head: facts to the right! thoughts to the left! sentiment back! - the road to His Majesty the Consciousness, which barely hobbles on its crutches. But it is impossible - otherwise there will be rebellion, noise, confusion and chaos. So - to order, gentlemen-facts and ladies-thoughts! I start.

Night. Darkness. The air is polite and warm, and smells of something. Toppy sniffs it with delight, saying it's Italy. Our swift train is already approaching Rome, we are blissful on soft sofas, when - collapse! - and everything flies to hell: the train went crazy and turned over. I confess without shame - I'm not a brave man! – that I was seized with horror and almost unconsciousness. The electricity went out, and when I with difficulty got out of some dark corner where I was thrown, I completely forgot where the exit was. Everywhere walls, corners, something pricks, beats and silently climbs on Me. And all in the dark! Suddenly a corpse under my feet, I stepped right on the face; later I found out that it was My lackey George, killed on the spot. I screamed, and here My invulnerable Toppy rescued Me: grabbed Me by the hand and dragged Me to the open window, since both exits were broken and cluttered with debris. I jumped to the ground, but Toppy got something stuck there; My knees were trembling, my breath came out with a groan, but it still did not appear, and I began to scream.

Suddenly he leaned out of the window:

- Why are you shouting? I'm looking for our hats and your briefcase.

And indeed: soon he handed me a hat, and then he got out himself - in a top hat and with a briefcase. I laughed and shouted:

- Human! You forgot your umbrella!

But this old jester did not understand humor and answered seriously:

- I don't carry an umbrella. And you know: our George is killed and the cook too.

So this carrion, which does not feel like stepping on his face, is our George! Fear seized me again, and suddenly I heard groans, wild screams, squeals and screams, all the voices that a brave man cries out when he is crushed: before I was like a deaf man and did not hear anything. The wagons caught fire, fire and smoke appeared, the wounded screamed louder, and, not waiting for the roast to ripen, I rushed unconsciously into the field. It was a jump!

Fortunately, the gentle hills of Roman Campagna are very suitable for such a sport, and I turned out to be not the last runner. When I, suffocating, fell down on some hillock, nothing could be seen or heard, and only Toppy, who had lagged behind, was stomping far behind. But what a terrible thing, a heart! It got into my mouth so much that I could spit it out. Writhing with suffocation, I pressed my face to the ground itself - it was cool, hard and calm, and here I liked it, and as if it returned my breath and returned my heart to its place, I felt better. And the stars above were calm... But why should they worry? This does not concern them. They shine and celebrate, this is their eternal ball. And at this brightest ball, the Earth, dressed in darkness, seemed to Me a charming stranger in a black mask. (I find that this is not badly expressed, and you, My reader, should be pleased: My style and manners are improving!)

I kissed Toppy on the crown - I kiss on the crown of those I love - and said:

“You have become very human, Toppy. I respect you. But what are we going to do next? This glow of lights - Rome? Long away!

“Yes, Rome,” said Toppy, holding up his hand. - You hear - whistle!

From there came the drawn-out and groaning whistles of locomotives; they were anxious.

“They whistle,” I said and laughed.

- They whistle! repeated Toppy, grinning, "he can't laugh."

But I got sick again. Chill, strange longing and trembling at the very base of the tongue. I was troubled by this carrion, which I crushed with my feet, and I wanted to shake myself, like a dog after a bath. Understand, because this was the first time I saw and felt your corpse, my dear reader, and I did not like it, I'm sorry. Why did he not object when I trampled his face with my foot? George had a young, handsome face and carried himself with dignity. Think that a heavy foot will be pressed into your face, and you will be silent?

To order! We did not go to Rome, but went to look for lodging for the night with kind people closer. They walked for a long time. Tired. I was thirsty - oh, how I was thirsty! Now let me introduce you to my new friend Signor Thomas Magnus and his beautiful daughter Mary.

At first, it was a faintly flickering light that "calls the weary traveler." Up close, it was a small secluded house, with white walls barely visible through a thicket of tall black cypresses and something else. Only one window had light, the rest were closed with shutters. Stone fence, iron bars, strong doors. And - silence. At first glance, it looked suspicious. Knocked Toppy - silence. I knocked for a long time - silence. And finally a stern voice from behind the iron door asked:

- Who you are? What do you need?

Barely moving his dry tongue, My brave Toppy told about the catastrophe and our flight, he spoke for a long time - and then the iron lock clanged, and the door opened. Following the stern and silent stranger, we entered the house, passed several dark and silent rooms, climbed the creaking stairs and entered a lighted room, apparently the stranger's workroom. It is light, there are many books and one, open, lies on the table under a low lamp with a simple green cap. We noticed her light in the field. But I was struck by the silence of the house: despite the rather early hour, there was not a rustle, no voice, no sound.

- Sit down.

We sat down, and Toppy, exhausted, began his story again, but the strange host interrupted him indifferently:

Yes, a disaster. This often happens on our roads. Many victims?

Toppy murmured, and the owner, half listening to him, took a revolver out of his pocket and hid it on the table, casually explaining:

“It's not exactly a quiet area. Well, please, stay with me.

For the first time he raised his dark, almost without luster, large and gloomy eyes and carefully, like a curiosity in a museum, examined Me and Toppy from head to toe. It was an impudent and indecent look, and I got up from my seat.

“I’m afraid we’re superfluous here, sir, and—”

But he stopped Me with a slow and slightly mocking gesture.

- Empty. Stay. Now I will give you some wine and something to eat. The servant comes to me only during the day, so I myself will serve you. Wash and freshen up, there's a tub behind this door while I get the wine. Actually, don't be shy.

While we ate and drank, though with greed, this unfriendly gentleman read his book as if there was no one in the room and as if it was not Toppy chomping, but a dog fussing over a bone. Here I have a good look at it. Tall, almost my height and build, his face is pale and as if tired, a black tar beard of a bandit. But the forehead is big and smart and the nose... what do you call it? Here I am again looking for comparisons! The nose is like a whole book about a big, passionate, extraordinary, hidden life. Beautiful and made with the thinnest incisor, not from meat and cartilage, but ... - how to say it? - from thoughts and some daring desires. Apparently - too brave! But I was especially surprised by his hands: very large, very white and calm. Why surprised, I don’t know, but suddenly I thought: how good it is that there are no fins! It's good that it's not tentacles! How good and wonderful that exactly ten fingers; exactly ten thin, evil, smart swindlers!

I politely said:

Thank you, sir...

My name is Magnus. Thomas Magnus. Have some more wine. Americans?

I waited for Toppy to introduce Me in the English way and looked at Magnus. You had to be an illiterate brute and not read a single English, French or Italian newspaper in order not to know who I am!

“Mr. Henry Wondergood of Illinois. His secretary, Erwin Toppy, is your most obedient servant. Yes, citizens of the United States.

The old jester delivered his tirade with some pride, and Magnus yes.” He winced slightly. Billions, my friend, billions! He looked long and hard at Me:

- Mr Wondergood? Henry Wondergood? Is it not you, sir, that American billionaire who wants to benefit mankind with his billions?

I modestly shook my head.

- Weiss, I.

Toppy shook his head and confirmed... donkey:

Weiss, we are.

Magnus bowed to us both and said with bold mockery:

“Humanity is waiting for you, Mr. Wondergood. Judging by the Roman newspapers, it is in complete impatience! But I have to apologize for my modest dinner: I didn't know...

With splendid directness I grabbed his large, strangely hot hand and shook it firmly, in the American way:

- Leave, signor Magnus! Before becoming a billionaire, I was a swineherd, and you are a straight, honest and noble gentleman, to whom I respectfully shake hands. Hell, not one yet human face did not awaken in Me ... such sympathy as yours!

Then Magnus said...

Magnus didn't say anything! No, I can't do this: "I said", "he said" - this damn sequence kills My inspiration, I become a mediocre tabloid novelist and lie like mediocrity. I have five senses, I am a whole person, and I talk about one rumor! What about vision? Trust me, it didn't idle. And this feeling of the earth, Italy, My existence, which I felt with a new and sweet power. Do you think all I did was listen to the clever Thomas Magnus? He speaks, and I look, I understand, I answer, and I myself think: how good the earth and grass smells in Campania! I also tried to feel into this whole house (so they say?), into its hidden silent rooms; he seemed mysterious to me. And every minute I was more and more glad that I am alive, I say, I can play for a long time ... and suddenly I began to like that I am a man!

I remember I suddenly handed Magnus My business card: Henry Wondergood. He was surprised and did not understand, but politely put the card on the table, and I wanted to kiss him on the crown of the head: for this politeness, for the fact that he is a man – and I am also a man. I also really liked My leg in the yellow shoe, and I quietly swayed it: let it sway, the beautiful human American leg! I was very sensitive that evening! I even wanted to cry once: look directly into the eyes of the interlocutor and at my open, full of love, kind eyes to squeeze out two tears. It seems that I did it, and my nose prickled pleasantly, like from lemonade. And on Magnus, My two tears, as I noticed, made a wonderful impression.

But Toppy!.. While I experienced this wonderful poem of incarnation and shed tears like moss, he slept like a dead man at the same table where he sat. Isn't he too human? I wanted to get angry, but Magnus held me back:

“He's worried and tired, Mr Wondergood.

However, it was already late. We had been talking and arguing with Magnus for two hours when this happened to Toppy. I sent him to bed and we continued to drink and talk for a long time. I drank more wine, and Magnus was reserved, almost gloomy, and I liked his stern, sometimes even angry and secretive face more and more. He said:

“I believe in your altruistic impulse, Mr. Wondergood. But I do not believe that you, a smart, businesslike and ... somewhat cold person, it seems to me, could place any serious hopes on your money ...

“Three billion is a huge force, Magnus!”

“Yes, three billion is a huge force,” he agreed calmly and reluctantly, “but what can you do with them?

I laughed.

- You mean: what can this ignorant American do with them, this former swineherd, who knows pigs better than people? ..

One knowledge helps another.

“That extravagant philanthropist to whom gold rushed to his head like milk to a wet nurse?” Yes, of course, what can I do? Another university in Chicago? Another almshouse in San Francisco? Another humane penitentiary in New York?

– The latter would be a true boon for humanity. Don't look at me so reproachfully, Mr. Vandergood: I'm not joking at all, you will not find in me that ... unconditional love for people that burns so brightly in you.

He boldly mocked Me, and I felt so sorry for him: not to love people! Poor Magnus, I'd love to kiss him on the crown of the head! Don't love people!

“Yeah, I don’t like them,” Magnus confirmed. “But I'm glad you're not going to follow the stereotyped path of all American philanthropists. Your billions...

“Three billion, Magnus!” With this money, you can create a new state ...

Or destroy the old one. With this gold, Magnus, you can make a war, a revolution ...

I did manage to impress him: his large white hand trembled slightly, and respect flashed in his dark eyes: “And you, Wondergood, are not as stupid as I first thought!” He got up and, once walking across the room, stopped in front of Me and with a mockery, sharply asked:

– Do you know exactly what your humanity needs: the creation of a new or the destruction of the old state? War or peace? Revolution or peace? Who are you, Mr. Vandergood from Illinois, that you undertake to decide these questions? I was wrong: build an almshouse and a university in Chicago, it's ... safer.

I liked the audacity of this little man! I lowered my head modestly and said:

“You are right, Signor Magnus. Who am I, Henry Vandergood, to decide these questions? But I don't solve them. I only put them, I put them and look for an answer, I look for an answer and a person who will give it to Me. I am an ignoramus, an ignoramus, I have not read a single book properly, except the ledger, and here I see enough books. You are a misanthrope, Magnus, you are too European not to be slightly disappointed in everything, and we, young America, we believe in people. Man must be made! You are bad masters in Europe and have made a bad person, we will make a good one. I apologize for the harshness: while I, Henry Vandergood, made only pigs, and my pigs, I will say this with pride, have orders and medals no less than Field Marshal Moltke, but now I want to make people ...

Magnus chuckled.

- You are an alchemist from the Gospel, Vandergood: you take lead and want to turn it into gold!

– Yes, I want to make gold and look for the philosopher's stone. But hasn't it already been found? It is found, only you do not know how to use it: it is love. Ah, Magnus, I myself do not yet know what I will do, but My plans are wide and ... majestic, I would say, were it not for that misanthropic smile of yours. Believe in man Magnus and help Me! You know what a person needs.

He repeated coldly and sullenly:

“He needs prisons and a scaffold.

I exclaimed in indignation (I am particularly successful in indignation):

“You are slandering yourself, Magnus! I see that you have experienced some kind of severe grief, perhaps betrayal and ...

“Stop, Wondergood!” I never talk about myself, and I don't like others to talk about me either. Suffice it to say that in four years you are the first to break my loneliness, and then ... thanks to chance. I don't like people.

- O! I'm sorry, but I don't believe.

Magnus walked over to the bookshelf and, with an expression of contempt and a sort of disgust, took the first volume he found in his white hand.

“And you, who haven’t read the books, do you know what these books are about?” Only about evil, mistakes and suffering of mankind. It's tears and blood, Wondergood! Look: in this thin book, which I hold with two fingers, there is a whole ocean of red human blood, and if you take them all ... And who shed this blood? Devil?

I felt flattered and wanted to bow, but he dropped the book and shouted angrily:

- No, sir: a man! A man spilled it! Yes, I read these books, but only for one thing: to learn to hate and despise a person. You turned your pigs into gold, didn't you? And I already see how this gold turns into pigs again: they will devour you, Wondergood. But I don't want to either ... burst or lie: throw your money into the sea, or ... build prisons and a scaffold. Are you ambitious, like all philanthropists? Then build a scaffold. Serious people will respect you, and the herd will call you great. Or do you, an American from Illinois, not want to go to the Pantheon?

But Magnus!

- Blood! Can't you see there's blood everywhere? Here it is already on your boot ...

I confess that at these words of a madman, as Magnus seemed to me at that moment, I jerked my leg in fright, on which I only now noticed a dark reddish spot ... such an abomination!

Magnus smiled and, immediately mastering himself, continued coldly and almost indifferently:

“Did I unwittingly frighten you, Mr. Wondergood?” Nothing, you probably stepped on ... something with your foot. This is nonsense. But this conversation, which I haven't had in years, worries me too much and... Good night, Mr. Wondergood. Tomorrow I will have the honor of introducing you to my daughter, but now let me...

And so on. In a word, this gentleman in the rudest way took me to my room and nearly put me to bed himself. I did not argue: why? I must say that at that moment I liked him very little. I was even pleased that he was leaving, but suddenly, at the very door, he turned around and, taking a step, sharply extended both his white big hands. And whispered:

Do you see these hands? They have blood on them! Let the blood of a villain, tormentor and tyrant, but still the same red human blood. Farewell!

…He ruined my night. I swear by eternal salvation, that evening I gladly felt like a man and made myself at home in his tight skin. She always presses under my armpits. I got it from a ready-to-wear shop, and here it seemed to me that it was made to order from the best Tailor! I was sensitive. I was very kind and sweet very I wanted to play, but I was not at all inclined to such a heavy tragedy! Blood! And you can’t stick your white hands under the nose of a half-familiar gentleman ... all executioners have very white hands!

Don't think that I am joking. I became very unwell. If during the day I still defeat Wondergood, then every night he puts Me on both shoulder blades. it he fills the darkness of my eyes with his most stupid dreams and shakes up his dusty archive... and how godlessly stupid and stupid are his dreams! All night long he hosts in me, like a returned owner, sorting through with disgust, looking for something, whining about damage and losses, like a miser, groaning and tossing and turning, like a dog that cannot sleep on an old bedding. It is he who draws Me every night, like wet clay, into the depths of the worst humanity in which I suffocate. Every morning, when I wake up, I feel that Vandergood's tincture of humanity has become ten degrees stronger ... think: a little more, and he will simply put Me out of the threshold - he, the miserable owner of an empty barn into which I brought my breath and soul!

Like a hasty thief, I got into someone else's dress, the pockets of which are stuffed with bills... No, even worse! This is not a tight dress, this is a low, dark and stuffy prison in which I take up less space than a tapeworm in Wondergood's stomach. You have been hidden in your prison since childhood, my dear reader, and you even love it, and I ... I came from the realm of Freedom. And I don't want to be a Wondergood worm: one sip of this wonderful potassium cyanide and I'm free again. What do you say then, scoundrel Vandergood? Indeed, without Me, worms will immediately devour you, you will burst, you will crawl at the seams ... vile carrion! Dont touch me!

But that night I was all at the mercy of Wondergood. What to me human blood! What is this liquid convention to me theirs life! But Wondergood was excited about the crazy Magnus. Suddenly I feel - think! - that I am all full blood, like a bull's bladder, and this bladder is so thin and fragile that it cannot be pricked. Stab here - it will pour, touch there - it will overwhelm! Suddenly, I was afraid that they would kill me in this house: they would cut me in the throat and, holding my legs, let out blood.

I lay in the dark and kept listening to see if Magnus was walking with his white hands? And the quieter it was in that damned house, the more frightened I became, and I was terribly angry that even Toppy did not snore, as always. Then my whole body began to hurt, maybe I got hurt in a crash, I don’t know, or I got tired from running. Then the same body became the most in a dog way itch, and I even acted with my feet: the appearance of a merry jester in a tragedy!

Suddenly, a dream grabbed me by the legs and quickly dragged me down, I did not have time to gasp. And think what stupidity I saw - do you see such dreams? As if I am a champagne bottle with a thin neck and a tarred head, but I am filled not with wine, but with blood! And as if all people are the same bottles with tarred heads, and we all lie in a row and on top of each other on a low seashore. And someone terrible comes from there and wants to smash us, and now I see that this is very stupid, and I want to shout: “Don’t smash, take a corkscrew and uncork!” But I don't have a voice, I'm a bottle. And suddenly the dead footman George walks, in his hand he has a huge sharp corkscrew, he something says and grabs me by the neck ... oh, by the neck!

I woke up with pain in the crown: probably, he still tried to uncork me! My anger was so great that I did not smile, did not sigh once again, and did not move, - I simply and calmly killed Wondergood once again. I calmly clenched my teeth, made my eyes straight, calm, extended my body to its full length - and calmly froze in the consciousness of my great I. The ocean could rush at Me, and I would not move an eyelash - that's enough! Get out my friend, I want to be alone.

And the body became silent, discolored, became airy and empty again. With light feet I left him, and to my open gaze appeared extraordinary, what is inexpressible in your language, my poor friend! Satisfy your curiosity with the bizarre dream I told you so trustingly - and ask no more! Or maybe a “huge, sharp” corkscrew is not enough for you - but it’s so ... artistic!

In the morning I was healthy, fresh, handsome and thirsty for acting, like a newly made-up actor. Of course, I did not forget to shave - this Wondergood scoundrel grows stubble as quickly as his gold-bearing pigs. I complained about this to Toppy, with whom we, waiting for Magnus who had not yet left, walked around the garden, and Toppy, after thinking, answered like a philosopher:

- Yes. A man sleeps, and his beard grows and grows. So it is necessary for barbers!

Magnus left. He did not become more friendly than yesterday, and his pale face bore obvious traces of fatigue, but he was calm and polite. What a black beard he has during the day! With cold courtesy, he shook hands with me and said (we were standing on a high stone wall):

“Admire the Roman Campagna, Mr Wondergood?” Great spectacle! It is said that Campagna is dangerous for its fevers, but in me it gives birth to only one fever: the fever of thought!

Apparently, My Wondergood was rather indifferent to nature, and I had not yet entered the taste of earthly landscapes: an empty field seemed to me - just an empty field. I politely looked around the wasteland and said:

“People interest me more, Signor Magnus.

He looked at me attentively with his dark eyes, and, lowering his voice, said dryly and reservedly:

“Two words about people, Mr Wondergood. Now you will see my daughter, Maria. This is my three billion. You understand?

I nodded my head in approval.

“But your California and no other place in the unclean land will give birth to this gold. This is the gold of heaven. I am an unbeliever, but even I - even I, Mr. Wondergood! - I have doubts when I meet the eyes of my Mary. These are the only hands where you could safely give your billions.

I am an old bachelor, and I was a little scared, but Magnus continued sternly and even solemnly:

“But she won’t take them, sir!” Her tender hands must never know this golden dirt. Her pure eyes will never see another sight than this boundless and sinless Campagna. Here is her monastery, Mr. Vandergood, and there is only one way out for her: to an unearthly light kingdom, if there is one!

“I'm sorry, but I don't understand this, dear Magnus! - I protested joyfully. - Life and people ...

The face of Thomas Magnus became as angry as yesterday, and with severe mockery he interrupted Me:

- And I ask you to understand this, expensive Wondergood. Life and people are not for Mary and… it is enough that I know life and people. My duty was warn you, and now,” he again assumed a tone of cold courtesy, “I ask you to my table. Mr Toppy, please!

We had already begun to eat, chatting about trifles, when she entered Maria. The door through which she entered was behind me, her light tread I took for the steps of a servant serving dishes, but I was struck by the big-nosed Toppy, who was sitting opposite. His eyes widened, his face turned red, as if from suffocation, and an Adam's apple swam in a wave along his long neck and dived somewhere behind the tight parson's collar. Of course, I thought he was choking on a fish bone, and I exclaimed:

- Toppy! What's wrong with you? Drink some water.

But Magnus had already stood up and said coldly:

“My daughter, Maria. Mr Henry Wondergood.

I quickly turned around and ... How do I express her when extraordinary inexpressible? It was more than beautiful - it was terrible in its perfect beauty. I don't want to look for comparisons, take them yourself. Take everything that you have seen and know beautiful on earth: the lily, the stars, the sun, but add more to everything. But this was not scary, but something else: a mysterious and striking resemblance ... with whom, damn it? Whom did I meet on earth who would be just as beautiful - beautiful and terrible - terrible and inaccessible to the earthly? I know now your entire archive, Wondergood, and this is not from your poor gallery!

So here it is! Yes, Madonna, the fool is right, and I, Satan himself, understand his fear. Madonna, which people see only in churches, in paintings, in the imagination of believing artists. Mary, whose name is heard only in prayers and hymns, heavenly beauty, mercy, forgiveness and all-love! Star of the Seas! Do you like this name: star of the seas? Dare to say no!

And it made me laugh as hell. I made the deepest bow and a little - mind you: a little! - did not say:

"Madam! I apologize for my unsolicited intrusion, but I never expected to meet you. here. I sincerely apologize that I never expected this black-bearded eccentric to have the honor of calling you his daughter. I apologize a thousand times for…”

Enough. I said something else:

- Hello, signorina. Very nice.

After all, she didn't show anything. already familiar with me? Incognito must be respected if you want to be a gentleman, and only a scoundrel would dare to unmask a lady! Especially since father Thomas Magnus continues to treat her mockingly:

“Eat, Mr. Toppy. You don't drink anything, Mr Wondergood, the wine is excellent.

Over the course of the following I noticed:

1. that she breathes;

2. that she blinks;

3. what does she eat,

and that she is a beautiful girl of about eighteen, and that her dress is white, and her neck is bare. I was getting funnier. I was cheerfully talking nonsense into the black beard of Magnus, while myself something thought. I looked at the bare neck and ... Believe me, my earthly friend: I am not at all a seducer and amorous youth, like your favorite demons, but I am still far from old, not bad-looking, I have an independent position in the world and - don’t you like this combination : Satan and Mary? Mary - and Satan! As evidence of the seriousness of my intentions, I can cite that at these moments I was thinking more about our with her offspring and sought name for our first-born, rather than giving himself up to mere frivolity. I'm not a helicopter!

Suddenly Toppy moved his Adam's apple resolutely and inquired hoarsely:

“Did anyone paint a portrait of you, signorina?”

Maria does not pose for artists! Magnus answered sternly for her, and I wanted to laugh at the stupid Toppy, and I already opened my mouth with my first-class American teeth, when Maria's pure gaze entered my eyes, and everything went to hell - as then, during the disaster! You see, she turned Me inside out like a stocking... or how should I put it? My excellent Parisian costume went inside, and My even more excellent thoughts, which, however, I would not like to tell the lady, suddenly crawled out. With all my secret I was no more hidden than a fifteen-cent New Herald issue.

But she forgave Me and said nothing, and her gaze, like a searchlight, went further into the darkness and illuminated Toppy. No, here you would laugh too, seeing how the poor insides of this stupid old Devil flared up and lit up ... from the prayer book down to the fish bone on which he choked!

Luckily for both of us, Magnus got up and invited us into the garden.

“Come into the garden,” he said, “Mary will show you her flowers.”

Yes, Maria! But do not expect hymns from Me, you poet! I was furious, like a man whose office has been hacked. I wanted to look at Mary, but I had to look at those stupid flowers - because I did not dare to raise my eyes. I am a gentleman and cannot appear to a lady ... without a tie! And when her gaze caught up with my poor modest thoughts, my dear little thoughts, how they tucked their tail - their little tail. What humility I was imbued with, and My most talented make-up slipped off Me irresistibly, like paint from a sweaty actor. Do you love being humble? Me not.

I don't know what Maria said. But - I swear by eternal salvation! - her gaze and her whole unusual the image was the embodiment of such a comprehensive meaning that any wise word became nonsense. The wisdom of words is needed only by the poor in spirit, while the rich are silent, note this, poetic, sage and eternal talker at all crossroads! Enough of you that I have stooped to the word.

Ah, but I forgot about my humility! It was she who walked, and Toppy and I crawled after her, and I hated myself, hated Toppy with his wide ass for his shameful sagging nose and flaccid ears. At least Apollo was needed here, and not a couple of Americans, and even then from the composition.

But how good it felt for us when She left and we were left only with Magnus - Magnus, it's so sweet and simple! Toppy ceased his religious humming like a clerk, and I crossed my legs, lit a cigar and fixed my steely and sharp gaze to the very pupil of Magnus. But what did he meet: the void or the same steel cuirass?

“You must go to Rome, Mr. Vandergood, they must be worried about you,” the amiable host said calmly.

I pressed the blade harder.

“But I can send Toppy—”

He smiled with a cheeky sneer.

“That will hardly be enough, Mr. Wondergood!”

I looked around with my eyes for a large white hand to shake it in a friendly way, but the hand was far away and did not intend to approach. And yet I caught it and shook it, and he had to answer by squeezing!

“Very well, signor Magnus, I will leave now.

“I have already sent for the carriage. Isn't it true how beautiful Campagna is in this evening sun?

I once again politely examined the wasteland and confirmed with feeling:

- Yes, excellent! Erwin, my friend, leave us for a moment, I have two words to say to Signor Magnus...

Toppi went out, and Signor Magnus made big and not at all joyful eyes. And, testing my steel, I leaned towards his gloomy face and asked:

- You didn't notice expensive Magnus, some, even very strong resemblance of your daughter, signora Maria, with one ... very famous person? Don't you think she looks like Madonna?

- Madonna? Magnus drawled so long that he wrapped the word around me. - Not, expensive Wondergood didn't notice. I don't go to church. But I'm afraid it will be too late for you to go. Roman fever...

I caught his white hand again and shook it with friendly frenzy... no, I didn't tear it off! And in front of my kind eyes again performed those two tears.

“Let's be direct, Signor Magnus. I am a straight man and I love you. Do you want to ride with me and be the manager of my billions?

Magnus was silent. His hand lay motionless in my hand, his dark eyes lowered, and something dark, like them, passed over his pale face and disappeared. Finally, he said seriously and simply:

- I understand you, Mr. Wondergood ... but I must answer you with a refusal. No, I won't go with you. I have not yet told you one thing, but your frankness and gullibility compels me to frankness: I must to some extent hiding from the police...

- Roman? We will buy it.

- No, rather ... international. Of course, you do not think that I have committed some shameful crime? .. Yes, yes, good. But it's not about the police, which can be bought. You are right, Mr Wondergood, that all men are for sale. The thing is, I can't be of any help to you. Why do you need me? You love humanity - I despise it, and at best I am indifferent. Let him live and do not interfere with my life. Leave me my Mary, leave me the right and the power to despise people by reading their life story, leave me this Campagna - and that's all I want ... and what I can do. All the oil in me has burned out, Wondergood: in front of you is an extinguished lamp on an empty wall, where once ... Farewell.

“I’m not asking you to be honest, Magnus…

“I'm sorry, but you'll never get it, Mr. Wondergood. My name is fictitious... but it is the only one I can offer to my friends.

I'll tell you the truth: at that moment I liked Thomas Magnus. He spoke boldly and simply, his heavy face showed stubbornness and will. This man knew what a human life is worth, and looked like a condemned to death, but a proud and unreconciled criminal who would no longer go to the priest for consolation! I even had a hunch: My Father has many by-products, disinherited and idly dangling around the world - isn't Thomas Magnus one of these wanderers? And will I really meet on this earth - brother? Very interesting. But even from a purely human, business point of view, it is impossible not to respect a person whose hands are covered in blood!

I saluted with my sword, shifted my position, and in the most modest way asked Magnus for permission to occasionally come to him for advice. He hesitated for a few moments, but then he looked at Me very directly and agreed.

- All right, Mr. Wondergood, come. I hope to hear from you a lot of interesting things, which will partly replace my books for me. And Mr. Toppy really liked my Mary ...

– Toppy?!

- Yes. She found in him a resemblance to one of the saints; Maria frequents church, Mr Wondergood.

Toppy is a saint?! Or was it the marching prayer book that outweighed his broad ass and the fishbone in his throat? And Magnus looked at Me almost tenderly, and only his thin nose twitched slightly from restrained laughter ... it's nice that such a stern appearance hides so much quiet fun!

It was already evening when we left. Only Magnus saw us off, Maria never left. The white house behind the cypresses was, as yesterday, quiet and silent, but now this silence seemed different to Me: it was the soul Mary.

To tell the truth, I was sad to leave, but soon other impressions swept over and scattered Me: Rome was beginning. Through some gap in a thick wall, we entered the illuminated crowded streets, and the first thing I saw in the Eternal City was a tram car, creaking and groaning through the same wall. Toppy, already familiar with Rome, sniffed blissfully into every dark bulk of the church and his long finger showed me leftovers old Rome, stuck in the huge and smooth walls of new houses: as if the present was bombarded by shells of the past and they got stuck in brick.

In some places, whole heaps of this junk were getting dark. Through a low stone parapet we saw some kind of dark, shallow pit and thick triumphal gates sunk into the ground up to the knees. "Forum!" Toppy exclaimed solemnly, and the driver on the box hurriedly and approvingly nodded his head in a rumpled hat. With each new pile of old bricks and rubble, my eccentric became more and more important, and I regretted my high New York and calculated how many ordinary garbage carts would be needed in order to take out all of old Rome by morning. When I told Toppy about this, he was offended and sullenly objected:

“You don't understand anything. Better close your eyes and just think you're in Rome.

I did just that and made sure that vision a great hindrance to the mind, like hearing: it is not for nothing that the wise men on earth are blind, and the best musicians are deaf. In My nose, when I, like Toppy, began sniffing air, included much more Rome and his terribly long and extremely entertaining story: so the old rotting leaf in the forest smells stronger and stronger than young green foliage. Would you believe it: in one place I felt a distinct smell Nero and blood? And when I opened my eyes in delight, I saw an ordinary newsstand and a booth with lemonade!

- Well, how? Toppy grumbled, still unhappy.

– smells.

- Well, yes, of course, it smells! And every hour it will smell stronger: it's old, strong perfume, Mr. Wondergood.

And for sure: it smelled stronger and ... - I can’t find a comparison! – all particles of My brain stirred and buzzed softly like bees awakened by smoke. Strange, but in the archive of this ridiculous Wondergood, it seems, there is also Rome: no longer from here does he come from? At least in some noisy square I felt a distinct smell relatives, and soon I received a firm conviction that this I have already walked the streets myself. Has it happened to Me before to become human, like Toppy? The bees buzzed louder and louder, my whole hive buzzed - and suddenly thousands of faces, swarthy and white, beautiful and terrible, spun in front of Me - suddenly thousands of thousands of voices, noises, cries, laughter and groans deafened Me. No, it was no longer a hive: it was a huge fiery forge, in which heavy hammers forged weapons and scattered red sparks. Iron!

Of course, if I've already lived in Rome, I was one of its emperors. I remember expression on my face, I remember the movement of my bare neck as I turn my head and look, I remember the touch of a golden wreath on my bald top of the head ... Iron! These are the steps of the iron Roman legions, this is their iron voice:

But I'm getting hotter. I'm on fire Or was I not an emperor, but only one of the “victims” of the fire when Rome burned according to the magnificent plan of Nero? No, this is not a fire - this is a fire on which I stand. I hear like snakes hissing tongues of fire at My feet. remember how, straining, my sinewy neck is stretched forward and the last cry of curse grows in the larynx ... or blessing? Think: I even remember that Roman face in the front row of spectators, which still then haunted Me with her idiotic expression and sleepy eyes: They burn me, and he sleeps!

“Hotel International,” Toppy announced, and I opened my eyes.

We climbed the hill along a quiet street, and at the end of it shone with lights huge house worthy, perhaps, even of New York: it was a hotel in which a room had been booked for me by telegraph a long time ago. Probably, they considered us dead in a catastrophe. My bonfire went out, I had fun, like a nonsense that escaped from work, and I whispered Toppi:

- Well, Toppy, how about ... Madonna?

– Y-yes, interesting. I immediately got scared and choked ...

- A bone? You are stupid, Toppy: she is polite and didn't recognize you, she just mistook you for one of her saints she knew. But what a pity, old man, that we chose such dull American faces for ourselves: after all, if we looked carefully, we could become handsome men!

“I’m satisfied with mine,” said Toppy sullenly and turned away, and on his dejectedly drooping glossy nose a flash of secret smugness flickered ... ah, Toppy! Ah, saint!

But we were already enthusiastically received.

Rome, Hotel Internationale

I don't want to go to Magnus, I too much I think a lot about him and his Madonna of meat and bones. I came here to lie and play merrily, and I don't like being that mediocre actor who cries bitterly backstage and comes on stage with dry eyes. And I just have no time to drive around the wastelands and catch butterflies there, like a boy with a net!

All Rome is making noise around Me. I extraordinary person who loves people, and I am famous, no smaller crowds flow to me to worship than to the vicar of Christ himself. Two popes at once... Yes, happy Rome cannot be called an orphan! Now I live in a hotel where everyone groans with delight when I put out my shoes for the night, but a palace is already being restored and finished for Me: the historic Villa Orsini. Painters, sculptors and poets. One mazilka is already painting a portrait of me, assuring me that I remind him one of the Meddichis, the rest of the muffins will sharpen their brushes to pierce him to death.

I ask him:

– Can you write Madonna?

Of course he can. It was he, if the signor remembers, who wrote that famous Turk on a cigar box, which is known even in America. If the signor wishes... Now already three mazilkas are writing Madonna to Me, the rest are running around Rome and looking for the original, "nature", as they say. To one I said with the most rude, barbaric, American incomprehension of the tasks of high art:

- But if you find such a nature, signor artist, then just bring her to me. Why waste paint and canvas?

He even writhed in unbearable pain and barely muttered:

- Oh, signor! .. Nature ?!

It seems that he mistook Me for a trader or buyer of "live goods". But, stupid, why do I need your mediation, for which I have to pay a commission, when there is a whole showcase of Roman beauties in My front doors? They all adore Me. Name remind Savonarola, and every dark corner in the living room with a soft sofa, they seek to immediately turn into ... a confessional. I love that these noble ladies, like the artists, know so well national history and immediately guess who I am.

The joy of the Roman newspapers, who learned that I did not die in the catastrophe and did not lose either a leg or billions, was equal to the joy of the Jerusalem newspapers on the day of the unexpected resurrection of Christ ... however, they had less reason to rejoice, as far as I remember history. I was afraid that let me remind you J. Caesar's journalists, but, fortunately, they think little of the past, and everything was limited only to My resemblance to President Wilson ... Fraudsters, they flattered My American patriotism! However, for most I remind prophet, but which one, they are modestly silent, at least not Mahomet: My aversion to marriage is known in all telegraph offices.

It's hard to imagine the rubbish I feed my hungry interviewers. As an experienced pig breeder, I look with horror at this poisonous scum, but they eat - and are alive, although it is true - they do not get fat at all! Yesterday, on a wonderful morning, I flew in an airplane over Rome and campaign… You want to ask if I saw Maria's house? No. I did not find it: how can one find a grain of sand among other grains of sand, even if this single grain of sand and ... However, I did not look for it: I was just scared at this height.

But My glorious interviewers, who were thumping their feet with impatience, were amazed at my courage and composure. One hefty and angry bearded man, reminiscent Me Hannibal, the first took possession of Me and asked:

“Isn’t it true, Mr. Vandergood, the knowledge that you soar in the air and conquered this recalcitrant element filled you with a sense of pride in the man who conquered ...

He repeated first so that I would remember better: they all seem not to trust My mind very much and suggest decent answers. But I threw up my hands and mournfully exclaimed:

Imagine, sir, no! I only once experienced a feeling of pride in a person, and it was ... in the dressing room of the Atlantic steamer.

- O!! In the restroom! But what happened? A storm and you were amazed by the genius of the man who conquered...

– special nothing happened. But I was struck by the genius of a man who, out of such a disgusting necessity as a toilet, managed to make a true palace!

- A true temple in which you are the high priest!

- May I write it down? This is such ... such an original coverage of the issue ...

Today this is ate the whole Eternal City. And I was not only not expelled from the city, but just today the first official visits: something like a minister, or an ambassador, or some other court cook sprinkled Me with sugar and cinnamon for a long time, like a pudding. Today I returned the visits: it is unpleasant to keep these things at home.

Do I need to say that I already have a nephew? Every American in Europe has a nephew, and Mine is just as good as the others. He is also called Wondergood, he serves in some embassy, ​​is very decent, and his bald crown is so pomaded that my kiss could be a whole breakfast if I liked odorous lard. But you have to sacrifice something, and especially the sense of smell. A kiss doesn't cost me a dime, and he gave a young man a wide credit for new perfumes and soaps.

But enough! When I look at these gentlemen and ladies and I remember that they were such still at the court of Ashurbanipal, and that for two thousand years the pieces of silver of Judah continue to bring interest, like his kiss, - It becomes boring for me to participate in the old and hackneyed play. Ah, I want a great game where the sun itself would be a ramp, I'm looking for freshness and talent, I need beautiful line and a bold break, and with this troupe I have no more fun than an old usher. Or is it just extras? But sometimes it begins to seem to me that it was definitely not worth it for this to undertake such a long journey and exchange ... the old lush, colorful hell for its worst reproduction. What a pity, to tell the truth, that Magnus and his Madonna don't want to play with Me a little... we would play a little... just a little!

Only one morning I managed to spend with interest and even in excitement. Some "free" church, a gathering of very serious ladies and men who want to believe in their own way, invited Me to read a Sunday sermon. I put on a black coat in which I remind. My theme, or "text", was Jesus' appeal to a rich young man with a proposal to distribute all his possessions to the poor - and in half an hour, as two times two is four, I proved that love for one's neighbor is the best place for capital. As a practical and cautious American, I pointed out that there is no need to grab hold of the whole Kingdom of Heaven and immediately throw away all the capital, but you can purchase plots in it with small contributions and installments - “dry, on high mountain with amazing views of the surroundings. The faces of the believers acquired a concentrated expression: apparently, they were calculating - and immediately cleared up: the Kingdom of God is on these conditions were affordable for everyone. Unfortunately, there were a few of My compatriots too smart in the meeting, and one of them had already risen to propose a joint-stock company… With a whole fountain of sensitivity, I hardly extinguished his religious-practical heat! What didn't I say? I whined about my sad childhood spent in labor and deprivation. I howled about my poor father who died in a match factory, I quietly whined about all my brothers and sisters in Christ, and here we made such a swamp that journalists stocked up on ducks for half a year. How we cried!

A shiver seized Me from dampness, and with a decisive gesture I hit the drum of my billions: dum-dum! Everything for the people, not a single cent for yourself: dum-dum! With an insolence worthy of sticks, I ended with "the words of the unforgettable Master":

“Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest!”

Oh, what a pity that I am deprived of the opportunity to work miracles! A small and practical miracle, like turning water in decanters into sour chianti or several listeners into pates, was not at all superfluous at that moment ... Are you laughing or indignant, My earthly reader? You don't need either one or the other. Remember that extraordinary inexpressible in your ventriloquial language, and My words are but a cursed mask of my thoughts.

Maria!

Read about my success in the papers. But one jester spoiled my mood a little: it was a member of the Salvation Army, who suggested that I immediately take a pipe and lead the Army into battle ... these were too cheap laurels, and I drove him and his Army out. But Toppy! .. All the way home he was solemnly silent and finally said to Me sullenly and respectfully:

“You were on a big hit today, Mr Wondergood. I even cried. It's a pity Magnus and his daughter didn't hear you... that one, you understand? She would change her mind about us.

You understand that I sincerely wanted to throw the unfortunate suitor out of the carriage! I again felt in my pupil the all-pervading look of Her eyes - and the barman in the bar does not open a box of canned food so quickly, as again I was opened, laid out on a plate and offered to the attention of the entire public that filled the street. I pulled on my top hat, turned up my collar, and, reminding with a crash of a failed tragedian, silently, not answering bows, retired to your apartments. How could I answer bows when I didn't have a cane with me?

I turned down all the invitations tonight and sit at home tonight: I'm "busy with religious reflections" - that's what Toppi himself came up with, who seems to have begun to respect Me. Whiskey and champagne in front of me. I slowly get drunk and listen to distant music from the dining room, there is some famous concert there tonight. Apparently, My Wondergood was a pretty drunkard and every evening he drags Me to a tavern, to which I agree. Isn't it all the same? Fortunately, his hops are cheerful, not gloomy, and we we pass the hours not badly.

First we with dull eyes we examine the situation and reluctantly think how much all this - bronze, carpets, Venetian mirrors and so on - can cost? Trivia! - we decide and complacently plunge into the contemplation of our billions, our strength and our wonderful mind and character. With each glass, our bliss is fuller and brighter. With pleasure we we bathe in the cheap luxury of a hotel, and - think! - I'm already really I begin to love bronze, carpets, glass and stones. My Puritan Toppy condemns luxury, she recalls him Sodom and Gomorrah, but it would be difficult for Me to part with these little sensual pleasures… how stupid, think!

Then we stupidly and complacently listen to music and sing along to unfamiliar things out of tune. A little edifying reflection on the cleavage of ladies, if any, and too hard legs we finally we go to the bedchamber. But what happens sometimes me?

Right now... we We were about to go to bed, when suddenly some careless blow of the bow, and I am instantly filled with a whirlwind of stormy tears, love and such anguish! The extraordinary becomes expressible, I am wide like space, I am deep like eternity, and in My single breath I contain everything! But what a sadness! But what love! Maria!

But I'm just an underground lake in Wondergood's belly, and My storms do not in the least shake his firm tread. But I am only a tapeworm in his stomach, for which he seeks in vain for a cure! We We call and order the chamberlain:

I'm just drunk. And riverderchi, sir, buona note!

Rome, Hotel Internationale

Yesterday I was with Magnus. He made Me wait in the garden for quite some time and came out with such an air of cold indifference that I immediately wanted to leave. In the black beard, I noticed a few gray hairs that I had not seen before. Or is Mary unwell? I got worried. Here everything is so fragile that, having parted with a person for an hour, you can then look for him in eternity.

“Maria is well, thank you,” Magnus replied coldly, surprise flickering in his eyes, as if My question was insolent or indecent. “And how are you, Mr Wondergood?” The Roman newspapers are full of you, you are successful.

With bitterness, heightened by the absence of Mary, I told Magnus of My disappointment and boredom. I spoke not badly, not without sarcasm and wit. He never smiled, never asked Me again, and when I reached My "nephew" Wondergood, he winced in disgust and reluctantly said:

- Fi! But after all, this is a simple farce from the Variety. How can you deal with such trifles, Mr Wondergood?

I objected vehemently:

“But that’s not what I’m doing, signor Magnus!”

What about the interviewers? And this is your flight? You have to drive them, Mr Wondergood, it's humiliating... your three billion. Is it true that you read some kind of sermon?

The excitement of the game has left me. Reluctantly, as Magnus reluctantly listened, I told him about the sermon and these serious believers who swallow blasphemy like marmalade.

“Did you expect anything else, Mr. Wondergood?”

“I expected to be beaten with sticks for impudence. When I blasphemously parodied these beautiful words Gospels...

“Yes, those are beautiful words,” Magnus agreed. “But didn’t you know until now that every worship service and every faith of theirs is blasphemy? If they call a simple host the body of Christ, and some Sixtus or Pius calmly and with the good consent of all Catholics calls himself the Vicar of Christ, then why shouldn’t you, an American from Illinois, be his ... even governor? It's not blasphemy, Mr. Wondergood, it's just allegory for rough heads, and you're wasting your anger. But when will you start to the point?

With a well-made sadness, I threw up my hands:

– I want do, but I do not know, what to do. I probably won't start until you, Magnus, decide to help me.

He frowned at his large, motionless, white hands, then at Me:

“You are too gullible, Mr. Wondergood, that is a big disadvantage… at three billion. No, I'm not good enough for you. We have different paths.

But, dear Magnus!

It seemed to me that he would hit Me for this most tender "dear", which I sang in the best falsetto. But since it comes to boxing, why not talk more? With all the sweetness that I had accumulated in Rome, I looked at the gloomy face of My friend and sang in an even more tender falsetto:

“And what is your nationality, dear… Signor Magnus?” For some reason it seems to me that you are not Italian.

He answered indifferently:

Yes, I'm not Italian.

But your country...

- My fatherland? .. omne solum liberum libero patria. You probably don't know Latin? That means, Mr. Vandergood: every freedom is a fatherland for a free man. Would you like to have breakfast with me?

The invitation was made in such an icy tone and Mary's absence was so thickly emphasized that I had to politely decline. Damn it, this little man!

I was not at all happy that morning. I sincerely wanted to cry in a friendly way into his waistcoat, and he dried up all My noble impulses in the bud. Sighing and making my face meaningful, like a criminal novel, I switched to another role, prepared, in fact, for Mary, - lowering my voice, I said:

“I want to be frank with you, Signor Magnus. There are dark pages in My…past that I would like to redeem. I…

He quickly interrupted me:

“There are dark pages in every past, Mr. Vandergood, and I myself am not so blameless as to accept the confession of such a worthy gentleman. I am a bad confessor,” he added with the most unpleasant grin, “ I do not forgive penitents, and under this condition, where is the sweetness of confession? Better tell me something else about...your nephew. Is he young?

We talked about the nephew and Magnus smiled politely. Then we were silent. Then Magnus asked if I had been to the Vatican Gallery, and I took my leave, conveying my regards to Signorina Maria. Frankly, I had a rather pitiful appearance and felt the liveliest gratitude to Magnus when he said goodbye:

“Don't be angry with me, Mr Wondergood. I'm a little unwell today and... a little preoccupied with my own affairs. Just a bit of misanthropy. Next time I hope to be a more pleasant conversationalist, but for this morning sorry. I will convey your regards to Maria.

If this black-bearded fellow played, then, I must admit, I found a worthy partner! A dozen Negro kids couldn't have licked the molasses off my face that Magnus' mere promise to give my regards to Mary had brought to my face. All the way to the hotel I smiled idiotically at my driver's leather back and gave Toppy a happy kiss on the crown of the head; the rascal still smells like fur, like a young imp!

Notes

Long live Caesar! ( lat.)

Goodbye, sir, good night italian. - A rivederci, signore, buona notte).

End of free trial.

” was not completed by the author, it was published after the death of Leonid Andreev. The book talks about reincarnation of Satan as a human. He wanted to understand what a person breathes, what he thinks about how he lives. To describe his feelings, the Prince of Darkness keeps a diary. He I thought that a person is much simpler , however, it turned out that, in some cases, the latter in his cruelty, cynicism and godlessness can surpass Lucifer himself.

about the author

• "Requiem"

The novel begins with Satan sits in hell and gets bored. To have fun, he decides to descend to Earth and live among ordinary people, wrap in lies and play with them . He reincarnates in the body of a billionaire from America named Henry Vandergood, who comes to Rome. Exactly in Italy and all the events take place .

Beside the devil is with him, Mr. Toppy . Them the train crashes and they end up in the house of a certain Magnus . Which type does not inspire confidence , he has a gloomy look, an impudent look, which indicates that the person is a fraudster. In the house of Magnus lives a girl whom he passes off as his daughter. Her name is Maria . Outwardly, she resembles the Madonna, she is so beautiful. Wondergood can't take his eyes off her.

He understands that the time has come to play with people, for this he descended to this sinful Earth. Satan wants to test everything human feelings . He gets into the role. With billions Mr. Wondergood offers Magnus to be the manager of his money and life . At first, he does not agree, but the temptation is so great that Magnus still agrees.

Seeing the disposition of a rich man, he supposedly wants to take Maria in and promises to marry her off to Vandergood . At first, this man is silent, but one day he tells the billionaire about his intentions - he wants to invent dynamite, but not simple, but with reason . Only a person can be such a dynamite. It is he who, if pricked, can blow up the whole world. It is necessary to conduct experiments.

Mr. Wondergood listens to Magnus with great interest, he suggests that the explosion be carried out as soon as possible. He promises that everything will happen in two weeks. After fourteen days, Wondergood realizes that he has become a beggar, and billions have migrated into the pocket of a skilled deceiver . Little of Maria turns out to be not a daughter, but a mistress , and she looks like the Virgin only in her face. She's just a prostitute , has been doing this since the age of fourteen, in the business of sex pros, but stupid as hell , which does not prevent her from being deceitful and terribly greedy.

Magnus believes that it was she who made him so unscrupulous. He is not just a section of the billionaire, but also mocks him, talking about his attitude to life and people. Satan is furious and, in order to somehow take revenge on the deceiver and intimidate him, reveals his cards - He is Satan. But Magnus only laughs at him in response. …

Leonid Nikolaevich Andreev is an outstanding Russian writer. Born August 21, 1871 in Orel in the family of a land surveyor, who (according to family legend) was illegitimate son landowner. The mother was also from a noble family, so it can be argued that the person who appeared in this world was an aristocrat both in spirit and in blood.

In 1882, he was sent to the Oryol gymnasium, in which Leonid, by his own admission, "studied badly." But I read a lot: Jules Verne, Edgar Poe, Charles Dickens, Dmitry Ivanovich Pisarev, Leo Nikolayevich Tolstoy, Eduard Hartmann, Arthur Schopenhauer. The latter had a particularly strong influence on the outlook of the future writer: Schopenhauer's motifs permeate many of his works.

In 1889, the young man is grieving the loss of his father. In the same year, another test awaits him - a severe spiritual crisis due to unhappy love. The psyche of the impressionable young man could not stand it, and he even tried to commit suicide: to try his luck, he lay down under the train between the rails. Luckily everything worked out and domestic literature enriched by another great name.

In 1891, after graduating from the gymnasium, Leonid Andreev entered the law faculty of St. Petersburg University, from where he was expelled in 1893 for non-payment. He managed to transfer to Moscow University, for which the Society for Assistance to the Needy paid a fee. At the same time, Andreev began to publish: in 1892, his story “In Cold and Gold” was published in the Zvezda magazine, telling about a hungry student. However, life's troubles again bring the novice writer to suicide, but the attempt is again unsuccessful. (He will try his luck again in 1894. And again he remains alive.)

All this time, the poor student drags out a half-starved existence, lives by private lessons, paints portraits to order. In addition, in 1895, Leonid Andreev fell under police surveillance for participating in the affairs of the Oryol student community in Moscow, since the activities of such organizations were banned.

Nevertheless, he continues to be published in the Oryol Bulletin. And in 1896 he met his future wife, Alexandra Mikhailovna Veligorskaya.

In 1897, Leonid Andreev graduated from the university with a candidate of law. He began serving as an assistant barrister, appearing in court as a defense attorney. Perhaps, from his practice, he took out the plot of the work, which is considered the beginning of his literary career: April 5, 1898 in the newspaper "Courier" (in which in the coming years they will also be published - under the pseudonyms James Lynch and L.-ev - Andreev's feuilletons) the story "Bargamot and Garaska" is published. This debut did not go unnoticed - Andreev's first story was approved by M. Gorky, was highly appreciated by then influential critics. Inspired by success, the novice writer felt an extraordinary surge of creative energy. From 1898 to 1904, he wrote over fifty stories, and in 1901 the Znanie publishing house published eight editions of the first volume of his works one after another. Before the young writer, who quickly gained a reputation among his generation as the "ruler of thoughts", the doors of the editorial offices of the best magazines opened wide open, his talent was recognized by Tolstoy, Chekhov, Korolenko, not to mention Gorky, with whom he struck up close friendly relations (which eventually grew into "friendship-enmity" and culminating in a break).

In 1900, Gorky introduced his young writer to literary circle"Wednesday". Here is how Gorky himself describes his meeting with Leonid: “Dressed in an old sheepskin coat, with a shaggy sheepskin hat on one side, he resembled a young actor of a Ukrainian troupe. His handsome face seemed to me inactive, but the gaze of his dark eyes shone with that smile that shone so well in his stories and feuilletons. He spoke hurriedly, in a muffled, thumping voice, coughing with a cold, choking a little on his words, and waving his arm monotonously, as though he were conducting. It seemed to me that it was healthy, invariably cheerful person able to live laughing at the hardships of life.

Gorky attracted Andreev to work in the Journal for All and the literary and political journal Life. But because of this work (as well as raising money for illegal student funds), the writer again came to the attention of the police. Both he and his works were widely discussed by literary critics. Rozanov, for example, wrote: "Mr. Artsybashev and Messrs. Leonid Andreev and Maxim Gorky tore the veil of fantasy from reality and showed it as it is."

On January 10, 1902, the story “The Abyss” was published in the newspaper “Courier”, which stirred up the reading public. In it, man is represented as a slave to base, animal instincts. A broad controversy immediately unfolded around this work of L. Andreev, the nature of which was no longer literary, but rather philosophical. (Later, the writer even conceived the "Anti-Abyss", where he wanted to portray the best sides of a person, but did not realize his plan.)

After his marriage to Alexandra Mikhailovna Veligorskaya on February 10, 1902, the most calm and happy period in Andreev's life began, which, however, did not last long. In January 1903 he was elected a member of the Society of Amateurs. Russian literature at Moscow University. He continued literary activity, and now more and more rebellious motives appeared in his work. In January 1904, the story “No Forgiveness” was published in the Courier, directed against agents of the tsarist secret police. Because of him, the newspaper was closed.

An important event - not only literary, but also social - was the anti-war story "Red Laughter". The writer enthusiastically welcomes the first Russian revolution, tries to actively promote it: he works in the Bolshevik newspaper Borba, participates in a secret meeting of the Finnish Red Guard. He again comes into conflict with the authorities, and in February 1905, for providing an apartment for meetings of the Central Committee of the RSDLP, he is imprisoned in solitary confinement. Thanks to the pledge made by Savva Morozov, he manages to get out of prison. Despite everything, Andreev does not stop revolutionary activity: in July 1905, together with Gorky, he performed at a literary and musical evening, the collection from which goes to the St. Petersburg Committee of the RSDLP and the families of the striking workers of the Putilov factory. From the persecution of the authorities now he has to hide abroad: at the end of 1905, the writer leaves for Germany.

There he experienced one of the most terrible tragedies of his life - the death of his beloved wife at the birth of his second son. At this time, he was working on the play The Life of a Man, about which he later wrote to Vera Figner: “Thank you for your review of The Life of a Man. This thing is very dear to me; and now I see that it will not be understood. And this offends me very painfully, not as an author (I have no pride), but as a “Man”. After all, this thing was the last thought, the last feeling and pride of my wife - and when they take it apart coldly, scold me, I feel some kind of huge insult in this. Of course, what do the critics care about the fact that the "man's wife" has died - but it hurts me. Yesterday and today the play is being staged in St. Petersburg, and it makes me sick to think about it. In December 1907, L. Andreev met with M. Gorky in Capri, and in May 1908, having somehow recovered from grief, he returned to Russia.

He continues to promote the revolution: he supports the illegal fund of prisoners of the Shlisselburg fortress, shelters the revolutionaries in his house.

The writer works as an editor in the anthology "Rosehip" and the collection "Knowledge". Invites A. Blok to "Knowledge", whom he highly appreciates. Blok, in turn, speaks of Andreev in the following way: “They find something in common with Edgar Poe in him. This is true to a certain extent, but the huge difference is that there is nothing "extraordinary", "strange", "fantastic", "mysterious" in Mr. Andreev's stories. All simple everyday cases.

But the writer had to leave Znanie: Gorky resolutely rebelled against the publications of Blok and Sologub. Andreev also broke with Rosehip, which published the novels by B. Savinov and F. Sologub after he rejected them.

However, the work, large and fruitful, continues. Perhaps the most significant work of this period was "Judas Iscariot", where the well-known biblical story is rethought. The disciples of Christ appear as cowardly philistines, and Judas is an intermediary between Christ and people. The image of Judas is dual: formally - a traitor, but in fact - the only person devoted to Christ. He betrays Christ in order to find out whether any of his followers are capable of sacrificing themselves to save the teacher. He brings weapons to the apostles, warns them of the danger threatening Christ, and after the death of the Teacher follows him. The author puts a very deep ethical postulate into the mouth of Judas: “Sacrifice is suffering for one and a shame for all. You took all the sin upon yourself. You will soon be kissing the cross on which you crucified Christ!.. Did he forbid you to die? Why are you alive when he is dead?.. What is the truth itself in the mouths of traitors? Doesn't it become a lie?" The author himself described this work as "something in psychology, ethics and the practice of betrayal."

Leonid Andreev is constantly busy searching for style. He develops techniques and principles of not pictorial, but expressive writing. At this time, such works were born as The Tale of the Seven Hanged Men (1908), which tells about government repressions, the plays Days of Our Life (1908), Anatema (1910), Ekaterina Ivanovna (1913), the novel Sashka Zhegulev" (1911).

the first world war L. Andreev welcomed as "the struggle of the democracy of the whole world against Caesarism and despotism, of which Germany is a representative." He expected the same from all figures of Russian culture. At the beginning of 1914, the writer even went to Gorky in Capri to convince him to abandon his "defeatist" position and at the same time restore shaken friendly relations. Returning to Russia, he began working for the Utro Rossii newspaper, the organ of the liberal bourgeoisie, and in 1916 became editor of the Russkaya Volya newspaper.

Enthusiastically welcomed Andreev and the February Revolution. He even allowed violence if it was used to achieve "lofty goals" and served the people's good and the triumph of freedom.

However, his euphoria subsided as the Bolsheviks strengthened their positions. As early as September 1917, he wrote that "the conqueror Lenin" was stepping "in pools of blood." An opponent of any dictatorship, he could not come to terms with the Bolshevik dictatorship either. In October 1917, he left for Finland, which was actually the beginning of emigration (in fact, thanks to a sad curiosity: when the border between Soviet Russia and Finland, Andreev and his family lived in a dacha and, willy-nilly, ended up “abroad”).

On March 22, 1919, the Parisian newspaper Common Cause published his article “S.O.S!”, in which he turned to the “noble” citizens for help and urged them to unite in order to save Russia from the “savages of Europe who rebelled against its culture, laws and morality" that turned it "into ashes, fire, murder, destruction, graveyards, dungeons and lunatic asylums".

The restless state of mind of the writer also affected his physical well-being. On December 9, Leonid Andreev died of heart failure in the village of Neivala in Finland at the dacha of a friend, writer F. N. Valkovsky. His body was temporarily buried in a local church.

This "temporary" period lasted until 1956, when his ashes were reburied in Leningrad on the Literary bridges of the Volkov cemetery.

The ideas and plots of Leonid Andreev turned out to be poorly compatible with the ideology Soviet state, and for many years the name of the writer was forgotten. The first sign of the revival was a collection of short stories and novels, published by the State Publishing House of Fiction in 1957. A collection of plays followed two years later. The composition of these books is emphatically neutral; "dangerous" works like "The Abyss" and "Thoughts" were not included in them.

The first and only to date (except for the two-volume 1971) posthumous collected works of Leonid Andreev was published by the publishing house Fiction(Moscow) in 1990-1996.

In recent years, historical justice has been restored: Andreev's collections come out year after year and are reprinted, individual stories and novellas of the writer are included in the school curriculum.

Fantasy in the work of Leonid Andreev

Many works of Leonid Andreev are directly related to the genre of science fiction and horror. First of all, the following should be mentioned:

"Satan's Diary" - an unfinished novel in which the Prince of Darkness appears in the world of the beginning of the 20th century in human form;

the mystical story "He", close in spirit to the works of Howard Phillips Lovecraft;

the terrible story "Red Laughter" - about the horrors of war, which found a supernatural embodiment;

surreal nightmare "The Wall";

the story "Eleazar", which treats the story of the biblical Lazarus in a peculiar way and has been repeatedly included in Western anthologies of ghost stories;

mischievous fable "Devil at the wedding";

the story about the end of the world "The Resurrection of All the Dead", the genre of which the author himself defined as a "dream";

philosophical fairy tale "So it was";

the parable “The Rules of Good” is about the devil who loves good;

the satirical story "Gulliver's Death", which tells about the funeral of Swift's hero;

fantastic-symbolist plays ("Tsar Hunger", "Anatema").

In addition, a significant number of stories and novels (including such outstanding ones as "Flight", "Grand Slam", "Abyss", "The Life of Basil of Thebes", "Curse of the Beast", "Nabat", etc.) cannot be attributed with certainty to any science fiction or traditional literature. This would be called magical realism these days.

Andreev Leonid

Satan's diary

Andreev Leonid

SATAN'S DIARY

On board the Atlantic

Today is exactly ten days since I became human and lead an earthly life.

My loneliness is very great. I don't need friends, but I need to talk about myself, and I have no one to talk to. Thoughts alone are not enough, and they are not quite clear, distinct and precise, until I express them in a word: they must be lined up like soldiers or telegraph poles, stretched out like a railway line, bridges and viaducts thrown over, embankments and curves built, made in known stopping places - and only then everything becomes clear. This hard labor engineering path is called by them, it seems, logic and consistency and is obligatory for those who want to be smart; for everyone else, it is optional, and they can wander as they please.

The work is slow, difficult and disgusting for someone who is accustomed to one thing ... I don’t know what to call it, to grasp everything with one breath and express everything with one breath. And it is not for nothing that they respect their thinkers so much, and these unfortunate thinkers, if they are honest and do not cheat in construction, like ordinary engineers, do not end up in a lunatic asylum in vain. I have only been on earth for a few days, and more than once its yellow walls and the welcomingly opened door flashed before Me.

Yes, extremely difficult and annoying "nerves" (also a pretty thing!). Right now - to express a small and ordinary thought about the insufficiency of their words and logic, I was forced to spoil so much beautiful shipping paper ... but what is needed to express the big and unusual? I will say in advance - so that you do not open your curious mouth too much, my earthly reader! - that the unusual in the language of your grumbling is inexpressible. If you don't believe Me, go to the nearest lunatic asylum and listen to those: they all knew something and wanted to express it... and you hear how these fallen engines hiss and turn their wheels in the air, you notice with what difficulty they hold in place of the scattered features of their astonished and amazed faces?

I see how even now you are ready to bombard Me with questions, having learned that I am Satan incarnate: after all, this is so interesting! Where am I from? What are the rules in hell? Is there immortality, and also what are the prices for coal on the last infernal exchange? Unfortunately, my dear reader, with all my desire, if I had one, I am unable to satisfy your legitimate curiosity. I could make up for you one of those funny stories about horned and hairy devils that are so kind to your meager imagination, but you already have enough of them, and I don’t want to lie to you so rudely and so flatly. I'll lie to you somewhere else where you don't expect anything and it will be more interesting for both of us.

And the truth - how can I say it, even if my Name is inexpressible in your language? You called me Satan, and I accept this nickname, as I would accept any other: let me be Satan. But my true name sounds very different, very different! It sounds extraordinary, and I can never squeeze it into your narrow ear without tearing it apart with your brains: let me be Satan, and nothing more.

And you yourself are to blame for this, my friend: why are there so few concepts in your mind? Your mind is like a beggar's bag, in which there are only pieces of stale bread, and here you need more than bread. You have only two concepts of existence: life and death - how can I explain the third to you? Your whole existence is nonsense just because you do not have this third one, and where will I take it? Now I am a human being, just like you, in my head your brains, in my mouth your cubic words jostle and prick with corners, and I cannot tell you about the Extraordinary.

If I say that there are no devils, I will deceive you. But if I say that they are, I will also deceive you... You see how difficult it is, what nonsense it is, my friend! But even about my incarnation, from which ten days ago my earthly life began, I can tell you very little that is understandable. First of all, forget about your favorite hairy, horned and winged devils who breathe fire, turn clay fragments into gold, and old men into seductive youths and, having done all this and chatted a lot of trifles, instantly fall through the stage - and remember: when we want to come to your land, we must become human. Why this is so, you will know after death, but for now, remember: I am now a man, like you, I smell not of a stinking goat, but of good spirits, and you can calmly shake my hand, not at all afraid of being scratched by the claws: I am so I cut like you.

But how did it happen? Very simple. When I wanted to come to earth, I found one suitable thirty-eight-year-old American, Mr. Henry Vandergood, a billionaire, and killed him ... of course, at night and without witnesses. But you still cannot bring Me to court, despite My consciousness, since the American is alive, and we both greet you in one respectful bow: Me and Wondergood. He just rented an empty room to me, you know - and that's not all, damn it! And I can go back, unfortunately, only through the door that leads you to freedom: through death.

That's the main thing. But in the future, you can also understand something, although talking about such things in your words is all the same as trying to put a mountain in a vest pocket or scoop out Niagara with a thimble! Imagine that you, my dear king of nature, wished to become closer to the ants and, by the power of a miracle or magic, became an ant, a real tiny ant carrying eggs - and then you will feel a little that abyss that separates the former Me from the present ... no, worse! You were a sound, but you became a musical symbol on paper... No, it's even worse, even worse, and no comparisons will tell you about that terrible abyss, the bottom of which I myself can't see yet. Or does it have no bottom at all?

Think: I was seasick for two days after leaving New York! Is that funny to you, used to wallowing in your own filth? Well, and I - I was also lying around, but it was not funny at all. I only smiled once when I thought it wasn't me, but Wondergood, and said:

Rock, Wondergood, rock!

There is one more question to which you are waiting for an answer: why did I come to earth and decide on such an unfavorable exchange - from Satan, "almighty, immortal, lord and ruler", turned into ... you? I'm tired of looking for words that don't exist, and I'll answer you in English, French, Italian and German, in languages ​​that both of you and I understand well: I got bored ... in hell, and I came to earth to lie and play.

What is boredom, you know. You know very well what a lie is, and you can somewhat judge the game by your theaters and famous actors. Maybe you yourself play some little thing in parliament, at home or in church? - then you will understand something in the feeling of enjoying the game. If, in addition, you know the multiplication table, then multiply this delight and pleasure of the game by any multi-digit figure, and then you will get my pleasure, my game. No, even more! Imagine that you are an ocean wave that plays forever and lives only in the game - this one, which I now see behind the glass and which wants to raise our Atlantic ... However, I am again looking for words and comparisons!

I just want to play. At the present moment I am still an unknown artist, a modest debutant, but I hope to be as famous as your Garrick or Olridge when I play what I want. I am proud, proud, and perhaps even conceited... you know what vanity is when you want the praise and applause of even a fool, don't you? Further, I boldly think that I am a genius - Satan is known for his impudence - and now imagine that I am tired of hell, where all these hairy and horned swindlers play and lie almost as well as I do, and that hellish laurels are not enough for me, in which I astutely perceive a good deal of base flattery and simple stupidity. But about you, my earthly friend, I heard that you are smart, fairly honest, moderately distrustful, sensitive to questions of eternal art, and you play so badly and lie yourself that you are able to highly appreciate someone else's game: after all, it is not without reason that you have so many great ones! So I came... understand?

My stage will be the earth, and the nearest stage will be Rome, where I am going, this "eternal" city, as it is called here with a deep understanding of eternity and other simple things. I still don’t have a definite troupe (do you want to join it too?), but I believe that Fate or Chance, to which I am now subject, like all your earthly things, will appreciate my disinterested intentions and send worthy partners to meet ... old Europe is so rich in talent! I believe that in this Europe I will also find spectators sensitive enough to make faces in front of them and replace soft hellish shoes with heavy cothurni. I must admit that I used to think about the East, where some of my ... compatriots once labored not without success, but the East is too trusting and prone to ballet, like poison, its gods are ugly, it still stinks too much of a striped beast, its darkness and the lights are barbarically rough and too bright for such a subtle artist as I to go into this cramped and smelly booth. Ah, my friend, I'm so vain that I'm starting this Diary not without a secret intention to delight you ... even with my misery as a Seeker of words and comparisons. I hope that you will not take advantage of my frankness and stop believing in me?

Satan's Diary is a very naive novel, in my opinion. Doesn't mean bad, but naive. You know, it's like everyone wrote at least one poem at the age of 13. And the ideas that come to people's minds are the same at a certain age and historical period. It is the same with the Diary - there is nothing more logical and natural than the fact that it was in the 1920s in Russia that Andreev thought about writing a diary of Satan incarnated in the human form. It's nice, but ... very naive, or something. Revolution, the debunking of Orthodoxy and religion in general on the one hand (try to write this in the 19th century under autocracy-Orthodoxy-nationality), and at the same time general eschatological sentiments due to the horror that is happening around. Andreev's poor Satan turns out to be a pitiful weak loser compared to the first people he comes across who cruelly cheat him. Oh, where is this world heading if Satan himself cannot surpass them! And so on. They don't write like that these days. And in general the novel, despite the obvious artistic merit, gives the impression that it was written by a very young person. About fifteen years old (despite the fact that Andreev was actually under fifty). And this is not a criticism, but a statement of fact; the text is pompous not in content, but in essence, in its very idea. In addition, alas, this is never Bulgakov’s level, and Andreev’s Satan is more likely to match the gentle, quivering Turgenev youths who dream of “plunging into the abyss of vice,” but are speechless when they see the modest daughter of neighbors in a white dress. It's cute, but disappointing because it doesn't live up to expectations at all.

Score: 4

The last book Leonid Andreev makes a strong and creepy impression. But psychologically she is somewhat weaker than early stories. Satan, who decided to walk in the shoes of a man, looks too rustic and helpless. Perhaps this is not really Satan, but just a middle-ranking devil, like the Lewis troublemaker.

The book is deeply depressing, with a touch of misanthropy. This is not surprising, if we recall the state of mind of Andreev in Last year his life. The democratic intelligentsia called for the revolution, hurried it on, helped it to the best of its ability, and when it started, they were horrified. I had to admit the collapse of my ideals and either take up arms or fall into black melancholy. Andreev, by age and temperament, was left with only melancholy. It was in this environment that Satan's Diary was born.

The most striking thing in the "Diary" is not reasoning about the nature of man, but the process of humanizing the devil, who ended up in the body of Wondergood. The process turned out to be extremely interesting. But the people surrounding Vandergood did not turn out very well. Well, in fact, who can cling to a visiting eccentric oligarch? The one who wants to charm him (in a stupid or smart way), lure more money, and then, of course, throw. That is, little people are worse than the last oligarch. It is surprising that in such an environment the process of humanization of the devil did not reverse.

Of all human characters the unbelieving cardinal and Thomas Magnus stand out. Moreover, the cardinal is even more interesting than Thomas. Thomas was seen by the author as something like a superman-superrevolutionary, the earthly counterpart of Satan. Doesn't pull. And in general, the revolutionaries of all nations either did their job at home, or hung out in Switzerland and had discussions there on third-rate issues. Foma is clearly not from their company. A rather ordinary person who managed to give himself a false significance and deceive the devil. And he didn't even realize what he had done. Devil's gold has never done anyone any good.

Score: 9

In Mikhail Bulgakov's great novel The Master and Margarita, a devil named Woland pronounces the following phrase: “They are people like people. They love money, but it has always been... [...] Well, frivolous... [...] ordinary people... in general, they resemble the former ones.

With Andreev, the opposite is true. People still love money, but they don't remember the old ones anymore. And they certainly are not frivolous.

Rather, Satan turns out to be extremely gullible, who fell victim to the most daring scam in the fictional history of mankind. And the prince of lies! It's time to take lessons from our crooks.

"Satan's Diary" can be safely called a dystopia. Andreev draws a society that has already begun to turn into hell. Absolutely everyone is mired in sin: not only thieves and murderers, but also priests of all stripes - and the author paints the latter with even darker colors. Although ... Can black have a degree of comparison?

The very idea of ​​the coming of the devil to Earth during the last battle between good and evil is not new. But Andreev's Apocalysis is frightening in the first place because it suggests fearing not devils with pitchforks, but the evil hidden inside each of us.

Can we win? Andreev gives a not painfully comforting answer. And the narration, broken off at the climactic monologue, plunges the reader into the abyss of complete hopelessness.

Probably, if Leonid Nikolaevich had finished writing the book, he would not have been able to achieve such an effect.

However, in the "Satan's Diary", if desired, you can find a bright motive. If even the devil himself on Earth began to serve good in some way, perhaps we will learn this too?

Score: 9

In the world literature, one and the same technique has been repeatedly played up - the coming of Satan to Earth.

Leonid Andreev found new, rather original plot twists for his novel. The devil is embodied in the American billionaire Henry Vandergood, with the aim of bestowing charity on people, deceiving them with false noble actions, slogans and promises. Together with Satan, his henchman appears - the devil from hell, who has taken the form of Toppy's servant.

Already the first days of stay on Earth dumbfound Satan. People have changed, become angrier, more cunning, more insidious. God's commandments are trampled and forgotten. People hate each other, do not believe in anything, they are ready to destroy each other with the help of violence, wars, revolutions. Bigotry, greed, deceit and debauchery reign on Earth. Capitalists kindle the flames of war, terrorists flood the streets with blood... Satan fails, his naive plans to fool humanity are childish babble compared to reality!

Andreev especially succeeded in the scenes with the Pope, who only craved power and money by any means. Even the infernal servant Toppy is mistaken by the clergy for a saint.

The writer turned out to be especially sinister in the image of the real “Devil” - Thomas Magnus, dressed in the toga of “a fighter for the bright future of mankind”, but really ready to “blow it up”, pour blood over it. Foma hates people and does not trust people. He easily deceives Vandergood, appropriating his capital, leaving the entrepreneur practically a beggar.

At first, Maria seems to Satan to be a “beam of light” - a girl of extraordinary beauty and meekness, presented as the daughter of Magnus. He even considers her the embodiment of the Madonna. But she also turns out to be only Magnus' mistress, devoid of feelings and thoughts, the embodiment of lust and depravity, who entered into sexual intercourse at a young age...

The novel is bitter to read, it is riddled with disbelief in Man. And further. Having found an original plot move, the writer cannot develop it. The plot gets bogged down in optional conversations of characters, endless repetitions. Nevertheless, Andreev's destiny is stories and short stories.

The writer never managed to finish the novel.

Score: 8

Satan has come to earth...

It would seem that Woland's retinue, after two decades, merrily swept through Moscow, and at Merezhkovsky's, even earlier, the Antichrist dominated humanity with his stern face. But the gloomy romantic Leonid Andreev brought to the face of his world, the world of a dying man, another Satan. We will never know what he really is - after all, he had to become human in order to feel all the nuances of created being, and thus reflect in a distorted mirror of Man as such - a creature that the fallen angel despises so much ...

But even in his contempt, he believes in the Crown of Creation, believes in the commandments and the initially bright nature of man. That is why he comes into this world as a romantic, a kind of good-natured playboy who sincerely loves people. He embodies nobility and sincere, bright and pure love, love for the beautifully spiritual essence of Man, his path to perfection and virtue, his humility and deep holiness.

Some literary scholars say that Andreeva's Satan is the Nietzsche Ubermensch, "superman." But it seems to me that he is more of an “Aussermensch”, “out of man”, some idealistic idea of ​​him, and, yes, in this the author merges with classical German philosophy. Satan is a being outside of Humanity, more precisely, he is an extra-cultural, supra-cultural entity, he came here to learn. He is individualistic to the limit, insanely lonely and unrestrainedly romantic. No ties connect Humanized Evil, which is no longer Evil, with this created and cruel world. Satan is an idealist, the last romantic, trying to boldly look for in people an initially good and bright beginning, which would prevail if the foundations of this slightly grotesque world were destroyed. Satan in isolation from everything embodies the ideal of Man.

“Ubermensch” is Thomas Magnus, who rejected the principles and seams of the social order, who wished to become the King in the new, earthly Hell, the cruel and intelligent conqueror of the world... But all his aspirations are shattered by earthliness, the lack of a flight of fancy and the pettiness of the evil he does . He, like his own namesake - the Apostle Thomas - questioned the idea of ​​Man, and stood above it, rejected it. But he did not become something higher, only a monkey crawled out from under the crushed Idea, an evil, bald and tailless monkey, which is the essence of a Man without a holy ideal. And Maria... what is Maria? It carries the image, but not the essence. She is an interweaving of two principles, the beginning of holiness, more precisely, the image of holiness, and self-revealing Evil, vice and vile, as if stolen, sweet-putrid passions.

So a new anti-hero, the opposite of a hero, came into the world. The rushing Pechorin, the vile Luzhin, the empty flowers Helen and Anatole Kurakins, the chatty and rustic Famusov are gone. Now in the new literary space, following the bewildered swindler Magnus, the resilient Julio Hurenito, the great trickster Nevzorov with Ibicus under his arm, the confused "thief" created by the imagination of Alexei Leonov, the great schemer Ostap-Suleiman-Berta-Maria Bender and - as an apotheosis - retinue Wolanda, who walked gloriously in the vastness of this world, and looped it in itself. It's a world of crooks building new world on completely different principles, where there is no place for the Idea of ​​Man.

So the dying Leonid Andreev anticipated the whole era that followed the Revolution. Indeed, another era was going on, but this was not at all the Man dreamed of by enlighteners and encyclopedists, Marxists and populists, not the one whom the American Dream and Christian preachers were looking for.

P.S. But in the gloomy world of Leonid Andreev there is something that still carries a piece of the Ideal, something that brings peace to the soul of Satan, who has become too human. This is Art that bears the imprint of genius, not vulgarized and not mutilated by the mass of ape-like "humanity". After all, indeed, there is something right in the fact that people cherish art and keep it in peace and quiet, so that it can be on its own, and an imperfect person feels timidity next to him ...

As always, I do not quite agree with the feeling of Leonid Andreev ... But I bow my head before him, with all due respect ...

Score: 8

The devil incarnated in order to play a theatrical play on sinful earth. He wants to act. Clothed in a body, he has already become a little human, but so far he is indifferent. He plays the role of a benefactor of mankind in front of the first who met on His way - Thomas Magnus, a cruel but intelligent man, a murderer who settled in a secluded house in Campania with his daughter Mary. Magnus sees in the eyes of the American billionaire and philanthropist, whose body was occupied by the Devil, an unearthly indifference, and contrasts this indifferent, feigned love for Man with burning and heavy hatred. First it turns out that he is playing, a little later - that he is only partly playing.

The world will begin to rapidly change the Devil; incarnation will go further than He expected. It's all about Mary, who painfully resembles another that lived two millennia before. And the Devil will fall in love. My God, how good Andreev is! How beautifully, skillfully, he showed through the diary of this unfortunate Devil how he changes and at some point finds himself between two blank walls. On one side - the world of man, to which He is still far away, on the other - eternity, from where he came - with its essences inexpressible in earthly languages, which will have to be forgotten for the sake of ... Mary. So far, the Devil has the opportunity to return back, retaining his pride, remaining indifferent - to shoot at the temple of Mr. Wondergood, whose body he has occupied; return, taking with it a slight contempt for people, worms, crawling away from death, creating cults in the hope of finding solace in a life that ends and, thus, contemplating the ratio, choosing instead a miracle - the miracle of a monarch given by God, instead of "low" parliament, the miracle of creation instead of reason; people who turn even the purest undertakings of the Great, because of the grayness of their bulk, into a farce and dirt. The devil will be blind. Precisely because in the beginning He put a person so low, a person will deceive and humiliate him - defenseless, completely humanized, “descended” to his secretary named Toppy, a petty devil who, out of love for church rituals, almost immediately forgot where he came from. And even the greedy cardinal, who looks like an old monkey, will laugh, saying jokingly "Vade retro, Satane."

I always really liked the monologues about the “trembling creature” and everything like that (in this case, the characters “have the right”); nevertheless, I have never projected the postulates of such reflections of book characters onto the realities of life. If you project it, it will be scary. And, in my opinion, wrong. Let the food for the mind remain so. Andreev is right, but he is right in terms of his view of humanity - the disappointed look of a tired person who is close to death. Within the framework of his “world picture”, I accept his conclusions, so beautifully and logically written out. But no more.

Score: 8

One of the most wonderful features of the works of Leonid Andreev, in my opinion, is the almost complete impossibility of drawing a line between the real and the unreal, the fantastic, the transcendent. It doesn't matter if it's Satan, or the crazy Wondergood who imagines himself to be Satan. As part of the phantasmogorical delirium that takes place before the eyes of the unfortunate Satan, in the Apocalypse, which began safely without the participation of otherworldly forces, when the role of the prince of darkness is better for an ordinary person than for Satan, Satan is not needed.